So, even if I were laid up in a hospital or prison (not that either is in the cards for me, I hope), I would be entertained.
In fact, I think one of the worst ideas ever was to put television sets in hospital rooms. If I am there to convalesce, then I don't want to be consumed by commerce...but that's another topic.
If I were reduced to little but a torso and head, I would find ways to be entertained, amused, engaged. If I could not even communicate with others, if my realm were no more than what was before my eyes and beneath my eyelids, I'd be fine.
How can I say such things? because I have an imagination. I pity those who do not. I just wag my head at those who boo-hoo about boredom. People whine about "needing" a budget for movies, bars, books, drugs, travel, etc...
I have something for those folk, but it does take effort: lucid dreams. I can drift in/out of consciousness so fluidly that the line can be blurred (on purpose, but also sometimes by circumstance). My life is Inception or The Matrix. (Maybe that's why I like those films so much!)
Almost any night, I can take the ephemeral reigns of my dreams and guide the coursers where I wish. Thus, I am my own production studio. I don't need CGI, for I have, again, imagination. While movies attempt to simulate the power of creative imagination and dreams, I am actually at the helm, the control panel, and I can tweak and twist one hell of a series of images, seemingly all night long. No, I don't have mastery of this, and I doubt anyone does. I do, however, have a gift at envisioning whatever I want and then actuating it in my sleep.
My sleep self and I are pretty tight buds. I know this is not the case for many people. They are astounded at what may bubble up from their dreams. They blush and burble over the intricate sensuality perking and lurking just behind the REM.
While I think of all this as a gift, the truth might be less glamorous. Some studies I have read just chalk it up to sleep deprivation. As has been proven already in my life (see the sleep study and apnea entries from last April), I am suffering from severe sleep apnea. That would mean, by default, that I am actually getting very little restorative sleep. That's the down side. On the up, however, those with my condition slip into REM much more efficiently than the average sleepy head. We milk the moment for all it is worth.
Wish I were so efficient in my waking life.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
19:05:05:21
That's me counting the minutes until grades are due. It's motivational for me to have a countdown clock on my PC, for it helps me pace myself on work. At this rate, I only have to grade 15 essays daily, or roughly read 30,000 words daily.
Today is also 'hump day,' that is, of course, Wednesday.
I never used to keep track of these little milestones. I always thought people who clocked their time or needed hump days and weekends were just....well...sissies.
Now, I am almost as bad as this guy:
I really cannot account for it, this clock watching tendency I now have. I once was a work horse, a workaholic, a great salary man who would give you more than a bang for your buck. Now I do my job to the best of my ability, but I also strive to do my job within reasonable hours.
Some say it's old age, others that it's family. The best answer is probably simple common sense. Why did it take me over 20 years of working to figure it out? Where did my warped work ethic come from? It was not modeled at home.
Anyway, I'm whiling away the hours and whittling my way through the grading, but always with an eye on the prize: freedom. Family. Fun.
Today is also 'hump day,' that is, of course, Wednesday.
I never used to keep track of these little milestones. I always thought people who clocked their time or needed hump days and weekends were just....well...sissies.
Now, I am almost as bad as this guy:
I really cannot account for it, this clock watching tendency I now have. I once was a work horse, a workaholic, a great salary man who would give you more than a bang for your buck. Now I do my job to the best of my ability, but I also strive to do my job within reasonable hours.
Some say it's old age, others that it's family. The best answer is probably simple common sense. Why did it take me over 20 years of working to figure it out? Where did my warped work ethic come from? It was not modeled at home.
Anyway, I'm whiling away the hours and whittling my way through the grading, but always with an eye on the prize: freedom. Family. Fun.
Monday, April 25, 2011
80's pop & random musings
What did I miss out on in the 1980's? Where was I? It's not like I was into country or something far afield, but somehow, I missed out on all the cheesy Madonna, George Michael, Michael Jackson...
I guess it was my classical music era.
Anyway, now it's refreshing, amusing, and surprisingly engaging music at times. I particularly like tuning it up when I'm grading. Most of it's chipper, which is important when slogging through the jungle of junior college freshman composition submissions....not that they're that bad, just that there's soooooo many to grade. *sigh*
Another Easter has come/gone. I remember some that were nothing but the eggs and the myth of the Easter bunny. I remember others that included sunrise services (some that I led, even). Now it's all about the kids, I guess, though like the Santa Argument, I have mixed emotions about all the Easter stories.
JC Superstar was such an influential album for me. It was the first vinyl I owned, likely some RCA record club special. I played the grooves off it. I learned every song, so very well that I can recite them to this day. That surprised me, when I called it up online last week, for after 10 years of ignoring it, the soundtrack still rings true for me. Surprising how deep some tracks are cut into my (otherwise fleeting) memory.
My Intro to Lit classes are surprising me, too. I took the cap off presentations, as advised by students last year who felt the 5 minute limit too constrictive. This term, I've had several that were 1/2 hour or more in length. Quality stuff, too. I had some very engaging multi-media presentations, using everything from a keyboard to Prezi software. I had a few in costume (though none can rival the girl who delivered her Dr. Seuss presentation in a Cat in the Hat costume, the entire presentation in Seuss-like rhyme and rhythm!) A guy brought a blow gun to class today. It's the same cat who caught his ex-girl friend's car on fire a few weeks back, then came last week with an elaborate hair fixin' for his rap presentation. The semester started with a bang with a 5 minute rap on Arthur Miller--accurate, entertaining, engaging. I am learning to step back and be amazed.
I like to be amazed. It is a good state of being.
Out.
I guess it was my classical music era.
Anyway, now it's refreshing, amusing, and surprisingly engaging music at times. I particularly like tuning it up when I'm grading. Most of it's chipper, which is important when slogging through the jungle of junior college freshman composition submissions....not that they're that bad, just that there's soooooo many to grade. *sigh*
Another Easter has come/gone. I remember some that were nothing but the eggs and the myth of the Easter bunny. I remember others that included sunrise services (some that I led, even). Now it's all about the kids, I guess, though like the Santa Argument, I have mixed emotions about all the Easter stories.
JC Superstar was such an influential album for me. It was the first vinyl I owned, likely some RCA record club special. I played the grooves off it. I learned every song, so very well that I can recite them to this day. That surprised me, when I called it up online last week, for after 10 years of ignoring it, the soundtrack still rings true for me. Surprising how deep some tracks are cut into my (otherwise fleeting) memory.
My Intro to Lit classes are surprising me, too. I took the cap off presentations, as advised by students last year who felt the 5 minute limit too constrictive. This term, I've had several that were 1/2 hour or more in length. Quality stuff, too. I had some very engaging multi-media presentations, using everything from a keyboard to Prezi software. I had a few in costume (though none can rival the girl who delivered her Dr. Seuss presentation in a Cat in the Hat costume, the entire presentation in Seuss-like rhyme and rhythm!) A guy brought a blow gun to class today. It's the same cat who caught his ex-girl friend's car on fire a few weeks back, then came last week with an elaborate hair fixin' for his rap presentation. The semester started with a bang with a 5 minute rap on Arthur Miller--accurate, entertaining, engaging. I am learning to step back and be amazed.
I like to be amazed. It is a good state of being.
Out.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really even care?
Apathy.
It used to be my arch-nemesis. That meant (though I'd not really thought it through) that I was action. That, in spite of my best intentions, was not always true...but for a decade there, it was the order of the day.
Does anybody really even care?
So, I read roughly 300 journal entries a week, when everyone's up to speed, and I read dozens of blogs and facebook posts...if I were to bundle them all up and strain out the governing concerns I encounter, I'm surprised to find it's largely economic and societal angst. Much of it relates to the future, at a very personal level (will I get the job? will Timmy still love me if I get fat?). A good portion has to do with plans, or a review of entertainments and amusements recently experienced. Some is family-oriented reflection.
Very little of it is congealed around the dynamic of social change. That is to say, in this webbed and interconnected powerhouse of networking ideas, where we can launch flash mobs and invite hoards to bars, very little of the potential of these tools ever comes to good. Sure, in some repressed countries social networking has led to revolutions. Sure, we could watch streaming CNN and hound our congress (if we cared, again). We have opportunity and potential, but we spend our words and time sharing pictures of puppies and babies and talking about our love lives.
Not that there's anything wrong with that. I think this is about the 500th post to this blog, and very little of it is dedicated to anything too profound.
I do have strange encounters with Those Who Should Care Most about the world: parents. These people ought to be up on news, up on the future, up on child rearing. They ought to be into Wow Wow Wubbzy and the Wonder Pets. They should be dedicated to educating their children (or at least reinforcing education).
I will have an encounter in which I get all bug-eyed talking about, say, nutrition, and how we're doomed, damned if we do, damned if we don't....how fighting marketing and HFCS, prepackaging and calories, is a losing battle. I rage against the machine for a while, then the parent shrugs and says, "Well, we came out okay." or "Yeah, but whaddya do?" Then they return to sports or their other regularly scheduled programming.
Parents should care.
It used to be my arch-nemesis. That meant (though I'd not really thought it through) that I was action. That, in spite of my best intentions, was not always true...but for a decade there, it was the order of the day.
Does anybody really even care?
So, I read roughly 300 journal entries a week, when everyone's up to speed, and I read dozens of blogs and facebook posts...if I were to bundle them all up and strain out the governing concerns I encounter, I'm surprised to find it's largely economic and societal angst. Much of it relates to the future, at a very personal level (will I get the job? will Timmy still love me if I get fat?). A good portion has to do with plans, or a review of entertainments and amusements recently experienced. Some is family-oriented reflection.
Very little of it is congealed around the dynamic of social change. That is to say, in this webbed and interconnected powerhouse of networking ideas, where we can launch flash mobs and invite hoards to bars, very little of the potential of these tools ever comes to good. Sure, in some repressed countries social networking has led to revolutions. Sure, we could watch streaming CNN and hound our congress (if we cared, again). We have opportunity and potential, but we spend our words and time sharing pictures of puppies and babies and talking about our love lives.
Not that there's anything wrong with that. I think this is about the 500th post to this blog, and very little of it is dedicated to anything too profound.
I do have strange encounters with Those Who Should Care Most about the world: parents. These people ought to be up on news, up on the future, up on child rearing. They ought to be into Wow Wow Wubbzy and the Wonder Pets. They should be dedicated to educating their children (or at least reinforcing education).
I will have an encounter in which I get all bug-eyed talking about, say, nutrition, and how we're doomed, damned if we do, damned if we don't....how fighting marketing and HFCS, prepackaging and calories, is a losing battle. I rage against the machine for a while, then the parent shrugs and says, "Well, we came out okay." or "Yeah, but whaddya do?" Then they return to sports or their other regularly scheduled programming.
Parents should care.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Tomorrow is coming!
I am a student of the future, and I am always in awe of Ray's insight...er...foresight.
WATCH THIS NOW and reflect on it as it comes true:
WATCH THIS NOW and reflect on it as it comes true:
Monday, April 11, 2011
Poetry
For a few weeks every semester, I get to teach poetry. I used to dread every encounter with the genre, from grade school onward. I have given a lot of thought to this, and I've pretty much determined what happened...
As a young child I loved word play. I would toss around rhymes just to hear them bounce off my tongue. I loved reading playful books with poetic verse that really rocked the house. I liked writing witty little ditties that made me feel good, for I was able to mesh together rhymes into statements, stories, etc.
Then, somewhere in middle school, I think, I was introduced to Poetry (note, with a capital P), and then all the joy and playfulness was siphoned away, replaced by scansion of lines, deeper Meaning, allusions to literary things I did not know (and thus, being ignorant, I felt stupid). All through school thereafter Poetry waggled a finger in my face (or more accurately, the teachers delivering it) and I was made to feel ever-more ill-prepared and uninformed. I was no match for Poetry, as it was shared.
Sometime in graduate school a light went on, when I was reading ee cummings. I hated him with a passion, for his work seemed the most opaque, cryptic, and challenging of all Poetry. Then I listened to it. Then I just played along with him and his words. I was re-introduced to poetry at play, and then the tidal flood of all that was good clean fun came washing back over me.
I have since learned to appreciate poetry for its potency, for its life and vitality. I can enjoy a string of words, a bandwith of images, a bevy of symbols....I can just roll a word around on the tongue like someone else might a fine wine, and savor the many flavors of it. (In class last week, I likened this to Skittles, encouraging them to "taste the rainbow" of poetry.)
I confess I don't always "get it." There are many (probably most) poems I encounter that are more dense than I am, more unyielding to me (unless I am willing to research, read the footnotes, really work at it). You know what, though? That's okay with me. If I want it enough, I can penetrate any poem, even a translation, given time and energy.
What I really love, however, is simply wordsmith-ing and spoken word. I love poetry that is pyrotechnic. I groove on language for its sound and substance.
I hope I don't scare away any of my students when I go off on a word's 'feel' or texture. I hope they don't get the impression that I'm right or they're ignorant. Instead, I hope just a few of them leave class for the day listening to the euphony of a word, like diarrhea or mammogram.
As a young child I loved word play. I would toss around rhymes just to hear them bounce off my tongue. I loved reading playful books with poetic verse that really rocked the house. I liked writing witty little ditties that made me feel good, for I was able to mesh together rhymes into statements, stories, etc.
Then, somewhere in middle school, I think, I was introduced to Poetry (note, with a capital P), and then all the joy and playfulness was siphoned away, replaced by scansion of lines, deeper Meaning, allusions to literary things I did not know (and thus, being ignorant, I felt stupid). All through school thereafter Poetry waggled a finger in my face (or more accurately, the teachers delivering it) and I was made to feel ever-more ill-prepared and uninformed. I was no match for Poetry, as it was shared.
Sometime in graduate school a light went on, when I was reading ee cummings. I hated him with a passion, for his work seemed the most opaque, cryptic, and challenging of all Poetry. Then I listened to it. Then I just played along with him and his words. I was re-introduced to poetry at play, and then the tidal flood of all that was good clean fun came washing back over me.
I have since learned to appreciate poetry for its potency, for its life and vitality. I can enjoy a string of words, a bandwith of images, a bevy of symbols....I can just roll a word around on the tongue like someone else might a fine wine, and savor the many flavors of it. (In class last week, I likened this to Skittles, encouraging them to "taste the rainbow" of poetry.)
I confess I don't always "get it." There are many (probably most) poems I encounter that are more dense than I am, more unyielding to me (unless I am willing to research, read the footnotes, really work at it). You know what, though? That's okay with me. If I want it enough, I can penetrate any poem, even a translation, given time and energy.
What I really love, however, is simply wordsmith-ing and spoken word. I love poetry that is pyrotechnic. I groove on language for its sound and substance.
I hope I don't scare away any of my students when I go off on a word's 'feel' or texture. I hope they don't get the impression that I'm right or they're ignorant. Instead, I hope just a few of them leave class for the day listening to the euphony of a word, like diarrhea or mammogram.
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
I'll admit it...
Guilty Pleasure, a confession
Okay, I liked Britney since she was on Disney. I turned a blind eye toward her, like one might a deer they'd hit on the side of the road, when she was in her slump.
Now, however, I am in her camp again. I have this thing for underdogs, for those who have been beaten down but rise up again to do great things. Robert Downey Junior comes to mind.
Charlie, are you paying attention? Someday I might be able to root for you, too!
Okay, I admit Spears isn't going to end homelessness or bring world peace...but hey, she's back on her feet, dancing, having fun, it seems. She's recovering from all that the media did to her (and all she brought on herself). Yes, she's still likely owned by corporate media, but as a person, I hope she's off on a positive, fresh start this time. I hope she eclipses herself, that she (somehow) makes Michael Jackson and Elvis seem like mashed potatoes and milk. I am her champion, now, and I guess I'm not too afraid to admit it (at least here on this little blog that no one reads). :)
Go ahead and watch her newest video....You know you want to!
Okay, I liked Britney since she was on Disney. I turned a blind eye toward her, like one might a deer they'd hit on the side of the road, when she was in her slump.
Now, however, I am in her camp again. I have this thing for underdogs, for those who have been beaten down but rise up again to do great things. Robert Downey Junior comes to mind.
Charlie, are you paying attention? Someday I might be able to root for you, too!
Okay, I admit Spears isn't going to end homelessness or bring world peace...but hey, she's back on her feet, dancing, having fun, it seems. She's recovering from all that the media did to her (and all she brought on herself). Yes, she's still likely owned by corporate media, but as a person, I hope she's off on a positive, fresh start this time. I hope she eclipses herself, that she (somehow) makes Michael Jackson and Elvis seem like mashed potatoes and milk. I am her champion, now, and I guess I'm not too afraid to admit it (at least here on this little blog that no one reads). :)
Go ahead and watch her newest video....You know you want to!
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